


lover no.(x)

by spills



Series: Like-Like and Not-Love [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: #kurohqpjoau, M/M, boys are stupid. so so stupid., can eat ah, oh no, remember how i said someone is getting their heart broken?, sex happens, son of eros!motoya, son of hermes!osamu, wtf is a communication?, yeah so.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25824196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spills/pseuds/spills
Summary: “You could sleep on top of me,” he blurts out, human brain turned lizard brain, but gods, Komori looked so soft to hold.
Relationships: Hinted Miya Osamu/Komori Motoya/Suna Rintarou, Miya Osamu/Komori Motoya
Series: Like-Like and Not-Love [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859686
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27





	1. FOREVER

**Author's Note:**

> some more of [kuro's pjo!au](https://twitter.com/shokurensei/status/1288033046348750848).
> 
> always so much fun to work on ww
> 
> ah also if you like Not Being Sad, don't read Chapter 2  
> don't say i didn't warn you :)  
> \-   
> events also take place before "more of me, less of you" aka part 1 of the series! take that as you well  
> i'll probs need to edit it eventually hhh

“You like me?” Komori blinks once, twice, as if confused, in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Osamu answers back, “I am.” He doesn’t bother elaborating, as nothing good seemed to come out of complicating emotions. Or maybe it was because complicating emotions was Tsumu’s job. Having the two of them do that would simply be Too Much, even for himself.

Maybe Tsumu liked tripping over his own feet trying to court Death in the form of a human sun, living for the dramatics. Osamu was different from his twin in that regard. 

A simple life is what he appreciates – and maybe that’s why their father had blessed him with greater strength compared to Tsumu’s blessed speed. A man couldn’t run if his legs were held down.

Osamu wasn’t into the chase like Atsumu was. He just wanted the power necessary to keep what he loved close, or who he loved closer. 

The stars are hanging over both his head and Komori’s right now. 

Boys turned young adults over the summer – both young men 19 now. A year older than 18 and that last summer when Osamu might have noticed an inkling of a crush. Spent a year stewing on it, just so he could determine it wasn’t a fleeting thing. He didn’t want to become one of those fleeting things by Komori’s side: 

To be a mere flower in the wind drifting in the other boy’s orbit, swept up by his pull before being dragged to the ground by earth’s gravity. A mere flower joining the rest of the buds, blooms and petals that lay on the dirt. Eventually, Komori’s lovers would be set free by their own accord. Allowed exit from the palms of the son of Eros’, palms wide open as his arms once were when welcoming someone new to love. Osamu didn’t want to be another face caught in the whirlwind that was Komori Motoya. He’s had four seasons to consider where he wants to reside. 

The son of Hermes desires to stay by the other boy’s side - a desire that rivals his foundational desire to have a good meal every day. 

Last summer, he didn’t want to take an impulsive risk that would ruin the bond they had already shared – terrorizing family members, racing up the lava climbing wall, kicking their feet over the lake’s surface when dawn started to break. This summer, he’s taking a calculated risk – maybe Komori liked his company just as much as Osamu liked his, and maybe Osamu could convince the other boy that they could make the future work.

(Suna had said that the three of them were linked in a weird affection triangle of sorts. The son of Aphrodite could mercilessly lead others by nose, but Osamu has seen how Rintarou looks at Komori. When Rin looks at Komori, Osamu can see some resemblance between Rin and his mother.)

The silence between them is long. Eros’ son peering into the taller’s eyes, as if searching for… something. Osamu isn’t sure what that  _ something  _ is and starts wondering if his confession was much too lacklustre, if the other boy thought he was playing a prank on him. He thought Komori would have known him well enough to not expect flowers or some dramatic heartfelt declaration. Or maybe Osamu was the one who had misjudged what the other desired in a significant other?

Despite the sudden doubts welling up within him, Osamu keeps his gaze unflinching till Komori’s face breaks into a small smile. The shorter opens the door to his cabin, home to one boy only. He seems to have found something he wanted from Osamu’s look, since the next thing that happens is Komori gesturing inside and asking “Wanna crawl into bed with me?”

Osamu has kissed other people before, but aside from Rin, he doesn’t think anyone could compare with Komori who stirs up a bottomless pit of hunger within him. It makes the son of Hermes feel more beast than either human or god.

It was just as easy to forget how tall Komori is, despite the broadness of the other boy’s shoulders. Sakusa’s fault, since Komori would usually be found by his side, accentuating the glory of Sakusa’s towering figure of 192cm when the son of Persephone would stop slouching and square his shoulders tensely instead.

Sure, Osamu was taller than Komori, but only by a few centimetres. That’s why a few compromises had to be made when Komori had tugged him into bed, only to realize that it was too small to fit them both. A disappointed sigh leaves Komori’s mouth, which would not do, not when Osamu has been dreaming about holding hands with the other boy for  _ literal _ months now. Maybe he was skipping a few steps regarding proper courtship, or whatever Atsumu liked to call it, but if he was being given the opportunity to share a bed with the subject of his affection, then he’ll take it.

“You could sleep on top of me,” he blurts out, human brain turned lizard brain, but gods, Komori looked so soft to hold.

For a son of Hermes, insults directed at his twin aside, he’s never been the most eloquent with words. Never found much use for them, when actions spoke louder. Until now. Which has him wondering if Komori is going to kick him out for being too eager to get into bed with him. But then again, Komori had dated  _ Gao _ for about a month or two, and while Osamu hadn’t had the chance to have gotten to know Komori all that well yet, he did remember Gao as a particularly sticky boyfriend, constantly found at Komori’s side.

_ He was kind of needy _ , Komori had said with a fond smile with his face, recounting memories belonging to him and some of the other campers he had dated,  _ but I’m glad I was his first love! Everyone deserves to have their firsts with someone who cares about them _ . A brief moment of curiosity, which had left Osamu wondering who Komori’s first love was.

At the time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. Right now, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know, only aware that he hopes he can get Komori to forget them.

Who needs memories when you could be constantly making new ones?

Komori’s jaw drops at Osamu’s offer, and Osamu refuses to look away, because, for one, he isn’t a coward. He said it, so he’ll stick by it, even if the next thing he hears is Komori giggling. “Are you sure?” Komori grins, and Osamu feels his cheeks warmer with each passing second, “I’m not exactly light.”

Osamu shrugs, shoulders loose. Komori’s answer isn’t a no.

“Don’t worry about it. I can toss Tsumu pretty far when I try so,” sending Komori into even more laughter.

* * *

Komori is a welcome weight on Osamu, as he had spent a minute shifting around on top of Osamu in search of the most comfortable position for the two of them. 

Osamu wasn’t expecting anything more than cuddling and sleeping together, to have their limbs tangled together. Everything he wanted was already in his arms, Komori’s nose nuzzled into the dip between Osamu’s collarbones. He had his arms wrapped around Komori, comfortable until the son of Eros had looked up from his perch and asked: 

“Can I kiss ya?” 

The son of Hermes answers by pressing his lips against Motoya’s mouth, raises one hand from Motoya’s side to tangle his fingers in the other boy’s hair. The kiss is soft and sweet, a chaste peck really, that Motoya pulls away from after the briefest brush of lips. 

“Can I kiss you some more?” Motoya teases, fingers skimming above Osamu’s stomach, fingers twisting into his shirt. 

Osamu licks his bottom lip, and then pulls Motoya in for another kiss. 

* * *

Their first night together in the same bed had left Komori with a necklace of bruises, while Komori had left him with nothing. Sakusa had sent the son of Eros a disgusted look later in the noon. 

Komori had blinked innocently at Persephone’s son before he had noticed Osamu’s gaze on him. A hand covering one of the love bites Osamu had left on him, and Komori had raised a finger to his lips and winked. 

Later that night, Osamu had ended up in front of the Eros cabin doorstep, knocked twice. Motoya opened the door, and let him in, again. 

* * *

It becomes something like a cycle, routine that Osamu has learned to expect. 

During the day, they act like friends, talk like friends. Appear to be nothing more than just friends, despite the marks of Osamu’s teeth peeking out from the hem of Komori’s shirt. 

Motoya doesn’t talk about the two of them as an item, and Osamu would be lying if he said he didn’t want to know where he stands with the son of Eros. But then sometimes Osamu catches Motoya looking at him from the corner of his eye. 

That’s enough for the son of Hermes to conclude love can be enough. There is no need for complications.

Even when he reaches for Motoya’s hand underneath the shade of pine trees, away from the sight of others. If the other boy purposefully curls his fingers into his own palm. It’s fine, because Motoya turns his cheek to face Osamu, his smile warm and sincere on his face. 

It’s fine, because he’ll probably have Motoya in his arms later that night anyway. 

* * *

They sleep together. They don’t hold hands. 

Osamu wonders if this is emotional blue balling, emotional foreplay that’s supposed to be a game between them. 

The son of Hermes doesn’t think he likes this game very much.

He can be patient if that’s what the other boy needs though.

* * *

The attention that Motoya gives his shaft is absolutely divine, attention that’s given aplenty. Application of attention deliberate and careful, as Motoya bobs his head lower and lower, lips ghosting his length, the inside of his mouth is so warm, along with the slightest scrape of teeth. 

Motoya lets Osamu set the pace, allows Hermes’ son to push his head as low as he wants, till Osamu can feel the tip of his cock hit the back of the other’s throat. 

“Do you like how I taste?” Osamu teases in a bored tone, after pushing Motoya’s head down, holding him there, listening to the son of Eros choke on his dick. Motoya’s answer comes in the form of sinking his head even lower, til he has the entirety of Osamu in his mouth. 

His toes curl, his grip on Motoya’s hair becomes slack, which allows the other boy enough freedom to bob his head playfully, edging Osamu towards climax. 

“Fuck- Gods,” Osamu groans, digging his nails into Motoya’s shoulder, desperate to stay grounded, “Fuck I think I might-” 

He doesn’t come, because Motoya’s terrible. A terrible little shit that won’t give Osamu what he wants. A wet ‘pop!’ sounds in the air before Motoya gives Osamu’s cockhead a little kiss, before shimmying downwards to place soft kisses on the tender skin of Osamu’s inner thigh, rubbing circles into Osamu’s flesh. Osamu hisses when the kisses turn into playful nips and Motoya gives a giggle, sounding much too pleased with himself. 

Chomp on the inner thighs. The only place where Motoya leaves his marks, proof that he was here hidden away from sight. Osamu shudders oh-so-slightly, as Motoya drags his tongue over the imprints of his teeth. 

“Are you that desperate to come, ‘Samu?” an innocent hum from Motoya that has Osamu gritting his teeth, “I could finish you off with my mouth, if that’s what you want.” A generous offer, if only Motoya didn’t string a challenge with each word that he had uttered. 

Osamu is so hard that he aches, but he has a fist gripped on the edge of his mattress to steady himself. An inhale, before he meets the other demigod’s eyes, gaze even when he growls, “Fuck you,” which has both of Motoya’s brows rise in amusement, “Get up here so I can kiss you.” 

“Demanding,” Motoya rolls his eyes while getting to his knees to get between Osamu’s knees to freefall into the taller’s embrace. He lets himself tumble into the space underneath Osamu’s chin, one knee brushing against the other’s groin that has Osamu biting back a moan. 

“You’re such a little shithead,” Osamu proclaims, lifting the other boy by the armpit. 

Motoya shrieks due to being ticklish there, before breaking out into laughter. He sticks his tongue out, “Sure you wanna kiss me? I’m pretty sure I’ve got the taste of your pre-cum stuck in my mouth.”

“Shut up,” Osamu tells the son of Eros, then leans in to suck on Motoya’s tongue - effectively shutting the other boy up. 

* * *

“Motoya,” Osamu sighs the other boy’s name when he’s being drawn in by Motoya’s arms for another kiss. 

It was an accident when the name belonging to Eros’ son had slipped off his tongue the first time. Though previously, he wasn’t sure what boundaries were not to be crossed, Osamu has become familiar with what he has been allowed. 

Motoya’s name allowed to be a constant in his mouth when it’s just the two of them, the dip of Motoya’s waist allowed to be underneath his palm, the bottom of Motoya’s rib cage allowed to be skimmed beneath his fingers, the weight of Motoya’s knees allowed to be held up by the crook of Osamu’s elbows. 

Yeah, all of that, and Motoya will also let Osamu pin him against the wall, let him bite the shell of his ear with three fingers up his ass. 

Osamu has been given full control of the pace now, pulling away from the kiss and backing away from Motoya’s reach. He can’t help the smug smirk that crosses his face at the petulant whine Motoya gives. 

It’s cute, so Osamu rewards Motoya by fucking him slow on his fingers, making sure to brush against his prostate with each thrust. The taller arches his back into a more comfortable stance that sandwiches Motoya in a tighter squeeze between his weight and the wall before catching the cartilage of Motoya’s ear on his teeth. 

“Feeling good?” he punctuates the question with a bite, knows how the son of Eros likes it rough. 

“Ngh-” Motoya exhales, grinding his hips for more friction, clearly desperate for more than what the son of Hermes is offering. “‘Samu,” he cries out, “I can take you, please. Please, I want you.” 

“Do you now?” Osamu queries, stilling all movement to brush his lips against Motoya’s temple, waiting for the other to beg. 

“I do,” Motoya pleas. Pressing himself deeper onto Osamu’s fingers. Absolutely insatiable, and it makes ‘Samu hungry too. “Please, please, ‘Samu, I want you inside me,” he babbles. 

“Okay,” and Osamu simply pulls out his fingers in one swift movement that has Motoya buckling at the knees, “Don’t fall over and I’ll give you something good.” Motoya tilts his head backwards, lips moving in mumbled prayer.

Right, so. Condom rolled over his dick, another generous amount of lube, and Osamu thinks he’s good to go. Turns around to see Motoya still standing, as expected. 

“I’m gonna lift ya up,” Osamu hefts up one of Motoya’s legs by the thigh, “You can hold on to me right?” his demand under the facade of a question. 

The son of Eros wraps his arms around Osamu’s neck, one leg snaking itself around Osamu’s waist, clearly keen for whatever may come next. “I can do that,” Motoya agrees easily, as the son of Hermes does as promised, hoisting Motoya off the ground, aligning the two of them just right before easing himself into the other. 

The moan that slips out of Motoya’s mouth is a broken sound, only becoming louder and louder as Osamu picks up speed, uses more force. 

“Ya want the whole camp to hear ya?” Osamu eventually huffs out, accent slipping out heavy, laid on thick, expression carefully apathetic. Motoya meets his eyes, face flushed with hair sticking to his forehead due to sweat. He’s wound so tightly around Osamu, “Didn’t expect ya to be so shameless, Motoya,” he drags the other boy’s name on his tongue, feels the other boy shiver in his hold as he hits his sweet spot.

Motoya moans only pitches louder, and it’s the loveliest sound.

Osamu doesn’t bother to shut him up. If any other camper hears Motoya, that’s their problem, and if they hear Motoya? 

Good, because at least they’ll know Motoya belongs to someone else. 

* * *

“Don’t pull out just yet,” Motoya pleads. 

From the wall, to the mattress for a second round, Osamu is spent, and starting to feel a little gross. “Why would ya want that?” he can’t hide the grimace in his voice. 

Motoya doesn’t seem to mind though, his hands on the back of Osamu’s shoulder blades, pressing some more kisses against Osamu’s jaw, which is unfair. 

“You’re warm, and I feel so full. I like being full of you.” 

Embarrassing. That is so embarrassing, and Osamu can’t help how his face heats up at Motoya’s easy admission. 

“Fine. Okay. We’ll stay like this for a bit longer. Then let’s wash up, and you can climb on top of me, okay?” 

Motoya sighs dreamily. “‘Hope you know that you’re the best, ‘Samu.” 

And how is Osamu supposed to refuse that? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah also if you like Not Being Sad, don't read Chapter 2  
> don't say i didn't warn you :)


	2. v. fling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s good like this.

There are benefits to being a god’s only son in Camp Half-Blood. 

Main benefit being having a cabin all to yourself, meaning that it’s possible to try a bunch of positions in the heat of the moment. Such as being fucked against the wall - it would be incredibly difficult to have that happen in a cabin full of siblings. Osamu would agree, belonging to the cabin with the most campers. 

Being forced against the wall with his palms flat. Komori thinks he likes it best when Osamu takes him from behind. It’s grounding. It’s great. 

It’s even better when Osamu pulls out, his strong hands on Komori’s waist. He spins the other boy around, pinning his back against the wall with one hand on his shoulder. Komori’s breath is laboured as Osamu uses his other hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. 

The son of Hermes rakes a disinterested gaze over every inch of his body, as if appraising goods, or his next meal. His expression looks so bored, even when he finally deigns Komori worthy of a kiss. He leans in to press his lips against Komori’s own, open-mouthed. Osamu kisses with his eyes closed. That’s perfect really. Motoya usually tries to avoid kissing another on the mouth during sex, especially when his head is blaring alarms in bright red - that sex is just sex. 

It’s good like this. Since Osamu has his eyes closed, and Komori allows the other boy’s tongue to slip into his mouth, before biting him hard on his lower lip. 

When Osamu fucks him, it isn’t tender at all. His actions dictated by carnal hunger. It’s a perfect fit for a son of Eros. Exactly what Motoya should crave just as well. 

Sex is just sex is just sex. 

Allowing the other boy to mar his skin with bruises and teeth marks - his touch never too gentle - Motoya is able to pretend Osamu doesn’t love him. 

Still, sometimes, Osamu’s fingers try to reach for his, like right now, and that makes it a little harder to pretend that Osamu doesn’t love him. Osamu shouldn’t love him, really, and this is the first time Motoya’s been so selfish, having desired this boy for so long that he just wants some harmless fun while being in love. 

Harmless for the other boy, less so for him. But that’s okay. Motoya is good with heartbreak, and knows that he’ll move on from it given time. 

But sometimes, Osamu’s fingers try reaching for his, searching for his hand to hold, and that’s a gesture too close to genuine love, which Motoya can’t help but shy away from. 

Again, tonight, Osamu’s fingers are trying to lace with his own. 

It’s terrifying. But Motoya has already come so far, so he can allow himself to take a little more, right? Compromises with fiddling with Osamu’s fingers, his hands, and the son of Eros thinks about how good these hands have been to him. 

He studies them with a soft hum, looking at the content that shows on Osamu’s face, dark eyes half-lidded but bright from the moonlight. 

The son of Hermes is so beautiful. He is so beautiful, and Motoya can feel his heart aching in his chest, knowing that the other boy will fall out of love with him soon enough. 

Passionate love is fleeting, so all the love radiating from Osamu will pass soon enough. But Motoya, being selfish, can enjoy basking in it now, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u read this and are sad i warned u :))   
> however if you are not sad, thank kuro!! 
> 
> but if you wanna shank me, [here](https://twitter.com/RainElsewhere)!!  
> [kuro](https://twitter.com/shokurensei) merely enables me and is innocent!!

**Author's Note:**

> come holler at us on twitter: [xin](https://twitter.com/RainElsewhere) & [kuro](https://twitter.com/shokurensei)!!  
> -  
> no but really thank you kuro for being the beta of my dreams and listenign to me wail about "is this roamnce?"


End file.
